Excerpt from a short-story 3

"He had the wrong dreams. All, all wrong."
 Biff Loman, from Death of a Salesman

     Mickey had been staring at the unopened envelope on the side table next to the chair positioned to where he could see the tree line beyond his backyard fence. He was alone in the house. He seemed to spend much more time alone on these brisk fall evenings. As the watery bourbon slid down his throat he committed to opening the envelope. Curiosity had gotten the better of him and in a moment of carelessness he slid the letter opener perfectly through and pulled out a hand written note folded on piece of expensive personal stationary.

'Dear Mickey,

     I recently came across a photograph of you and me. I was rummaging through some old boxes in the attic on a Sunday morning being that I had nothing else to do. I tripped on something and well I dropped the box spilling everything onto the floor. Forgive me for writing to you without advance notice. It's been a long time. Over 20 years in fact. It's been a long, long time.

    I sent an old friend- our friend- Johnny a letter a few weeks back. He's older as well you know. He actually called me after receiving my correspondence. He mentioned something about having knowledge of where you might be and gave me this address. I hope you receive my letter, are reading it now.

    Funny, I was speaking about you to my wife just last night, told her I was going to write to you- I don't think she ever really listens to me but I told her over our typical 5:00 pm dinner here in our frank little home. It's a nice place. I think you'd like it Mickey. Quite a bit fancier than when we roomed together in the canyon. She's much younger than I am and she's quite stunning; truly beautiful. Anyway, I told her how much I've been thinking of my old friend Mickey. And you know what? Thinking back on those days, I truly don't remember anything bad between you and me. Nothing but good comes to mind when I think about us, about our time together, our friendship. All of my memories are good. What do you remember? You were a very good friend to me. Is this what you remember?

    Do you remember the last time we saw each other? Or, maybe its more accurate to say "when I saw you." I remember the day as if it were yesterday. I remember seeing you walk past the window of our coffee shop, you know, the place on the corner around from Sunset where we would start our day together sipping that bitter awful coffee at Bill's. I saw you and I swear you looked at me as well almost out of habit. You kept walking and left the frame of the coffee shop window. That was the last time I saw you. I believe to this day that it was the last time you ever saw me as well.

    The contents of the box surprised me. I didn't expect to bend over to pick up the mess and see you there on the floor. We were in front of the theater the night the play opened. Do you remember that? Do you remember the applause and the people swarming us in the dressing room as we tried to unwind, smoking, having a drink as we tried to detach ourselves from the characters we had just inhabited for the previous three hours. And the beautiful women that wanted to see us, to talk to us, do you remember that? Is this memory lost? Is it somewhere in the back of your mind lost in a fog? Have you purged yourself of those days, wiped your heart and mind clean?

    You were really good you know. You were always good- better than me. That's what I remember, Mickey is so talented. And you were my best friend. My brother really.

    You're probably wondering, "what does he want from me?" I don't quite know myself Mickey. I saw your face in a picture. You're standing next to me and we're young and we're beautiful and we loved each other in a way that I think brothers must love each other or a son loves a really good father. I wouldn't know. But I think that's what it was like. 

     I don't know what I want. To be honest, I'm not sure why I have written and certainly fearful of having sent this.  I do have questions. Actually, one question. But perhaps at my age I'd rather not ask it. Yes. I think I'll just leave it at that. If you actually receive this I hope you are well. I hope that life, where ever you have been living your days, has been more kind to you than cruel. Because we both know the cruelty of the world don't we. If you're married and you're wife is still alive then enjoy her as the days plod forward to whatever end awaits you, awaits us.

Please don't write me back.

Tom'